#like.. weird fear and cringing i have towards feeling ‘childish’ for having comfort items and getting overwhelmed by things others dont

[c-kiddo]

i should make another tmn neurodivergent post . actually i just remembered that i never actually finished/posted th post in which i listed my nd (and some mental illness) headcanons,...... aa wow. i forgot. but anyways i yam thinking of 1. how characters i hc as autistic calm down from sensory overload or meltdowns n things,, 2. arts of thems all w stim toys or comfort items :’3

(for now i am going to bed, goodnight 🌜✨)

[masquerade-story]

Chapter 1 - Moving In

"Whose dumb idea was it to go camping like this anyway?" Grey grumbled, smacking away a tree branch that seemed determined to get friendly with his face.

Walking behind him, his twin sister Lillian rolled her eyes and poked the small of her brother's back. "Yours. It was your idea."

"Oh please Crystal! Please oh please might we go live at the haunted house in the woods where we'll certainly perish! I, Dorian Grey Duvall, swear on my sister's honor to let you protect me!" Rayne fluttered her eyelashes, lowering her voice to sound more like Dorian. She yanked the handcart she was dragging over a set of roots, careful to steady its contents before resuming her walk.

"Has to swear on my honor cuz he doesn't have any of his own left after the last time," Lillian snickered, while Grey pointedly ignored their teasing and continued clearing the overgrown path.

Bringing up the rear with a digital camera trained on everyone's back, Crystal grinned and panned the camera to take in the large, dense trees, and huge, leafy bushes. "For a haunted forest, it's actually pretty nice here. Ah, more meadow rue! Specifically thalictrum rochebrunianum, neat."

"Gesundheit," Rayne said, eliciting giggles from the group.

"The lacy one over there with the purple flowers," Crystal clarified. "There's some rue anemone and meadow rue 'splendide' around here too. Don't touch the white flowery plant up ahead by the way, it's giant hogweed. The leaves and sap can give you phytophotodermatitis, making you blister up in the sun."

"Bro, how do you remember any of this? And as for you, you're a scary bitch," Grey cringed away from the plant in question while swearing at it, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at its pretty little flower clusters.

"I read a lot."

"Me too, doesn't mean I absorb any of it! I spent like six hours on Wikipedia the other day, don't even fully remember what I looked up."

"Was it about The Hobbit or Merlin? Cuz that's all you ever look up."

"Look, Lils. I know I'm walking in the front and all, but you don't need to stab me in the back like that. Also sometimes it's Pacific Rim, thank you very much."

"Was it Pacific Rim?"

"No it was The Hobbit."

The group talking and laughing were the self-proclaimed 'Fairy Rock' band Aos Sí Echtrae. Each of them wore a hiking backpack containing personal items, while Rayne also tugged along a sturdy handcart holding supplies and instruments with ease - a drum kit, harp, bouzouki, and keyboard piled up alongside some smaller instruments and the camping stuff Crystal insisted they bring along.

Though their banter was light-hearted and comfortable, they took their excursion very seriously. After all, they'd temporarily rented a locally infamous haunted house to use for a music video! It was a large investment, but they'd become popular online and had enough supporters that they were able to fulfill one of their member's dearest dreams.

Dorian Duvall, or Grey as he preferred to be called by friends, and his twin sister Lillian Duvall played bouzouki and keyboard respectively. Both had the same willowy stature, button nose and almond eye shape, but despite their similarities they both gave off very different impressions. Where Lillian looked soft and gentle, with large doe-like green eyes, and a kind smile, Grey had a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes and a roguish grin that he utilized with careless abandon. Lillian wore her sleek black hair long and loose, falling down past her waist and kept away from her face by a cloth headband, while Grey wore his hair in a high ponytail decorated with small braids.

As the one who absolutely loved haunted houses and anything spooky, it was Grey's idea to film on location for their new Halloween-themed album, Masquerade. Though it was the middle of July, they were hoping to get everything ready for an September promotional release before the album dropped in October, and so hurriedly set up for their video shoot in order to give themselves plenty of time for editing.

All four of them worked together to compose their music, write lyrics, and design stage costumes as well as fan merchandise. They also lacked anything resembling a lead vocalist, taking turns depending on what sound worked best with each song, and preferring harmonies rather than solos.

"Ray! There's a log up here!" Grey called out suddenly, kicking the fallen tree blocking their path. Rayne grunted acknowledgment, and shuffled around Lillian to help move the obstruction.

Rayne Rose played the drums, and also did a majority of the heavy lifting due to being the strongest person present in any room that didn't involve professional weightlifters. Her muscular arms were covered with watercolor flower tattoos, which she proudly showed off by refusing to wear any shirt with sleeves. Her curly hair, dyed a gradient of aqua blue and purple, was cropped close to her face for summertime weather. The short style purposefully revealed ear gauges and more than a dozen total ear piercings, matching the many piercings on her brows, lips, and nose.

The twins had fresh yet roguish charms, while Rayne had a more heroic air with heavy brows and an intense black gaze over lips naturally curved into an amused smirk. She dusted off her hands after tossing the log aside with little effort, while Grey panted for breath from the exertion of merely helping her lift it. Crystal, for her part, made sure to get the whole thing on video for future blackmail purposes.

Crystal Rose, Rayne's older sister, played the harp. Unlike her athletic and statuesque sister, Crystal was on the soft and plump side. Her long, wavy blonde hair was pulled back into a messy twist to keep it off her neck, the ends still pink from the last time she dyed it. Her face was round and childish, with bluish gray eyes above an upturned nose and broad cheekbones, unremarkable features made more charming by her innate overwhelming charisma and natural exuberance.

She was the kind of person that random strangers would strike up a conversation with, lost kids would try to hold her hand, wild animals would approach like an old friend, and when she raised her voice even the most crowded room would quiet down. She was also the kind of person who got carded when buying alcohol despite being thirty years of age, due to what Grey dubbed 'Acute Babyface Syndrome'.

"Anyone need to clean their glasses?" Crystal asked, pulling a cloth from her pocket to swipe hers clean. Aside from Rayne, who wore her contacts, Grey and Lillian both opted to wear glasses for the hike so they wouldn't have to worry about losing a contact forever if they tripped - a serious and ever-present concern for the slightly clumsy twins.

"I'm good!"

"Not yet, thanks."

"I'll take it," Rayne said, keeping her expression blank, and Crystal narrowed her eyes.

"If you wipe your sweaty face with the glasses cloth I'll push you into the patch of poison ivy over there."

"Ope, nevermind then."

The haunted house was a thirty minute hike from the nearest road, along a mostly uphill path that hardly anyone ever used and certainly wasn't wide or steady enough for any automobiles. By the time they reached the stone fence encircling the house's enormous overgrown yard, everyone except Rayne was ready to collapse.

"I'm gonna be so in shape after this if my binder doesn't kill me first," Grey wheezed, leaning on the stone fence and looking up at the haunted house of his dreams with a longing yet exhausted expression. It stood atop a hill in the distance, surrounded by several acres worth of mostly empty property speckled by a few large trees and scraggly bushes. Behind it was a small barn, a chicken coop that hadn't seen use in ages, and a greenhouse conspicuously lacking anything actually green. "A stone brick cottage in the middle of the woods overgrown by vines, a sagging peaked roof with exposed beams, and gaping windows whose panes are cracked like spiderwebs... Looks spooky enough! If the door doesn't creak ominously when we open it, I'm filing a complaint."

Rayne pulled the handcart into the yard, then glanced over her shoulder at Crystal, who was panning the camera up to take a wide shot of the house from just inside the fence gate. "How's it feel, Coco?"

Crystal frowned, furrowing her brows. All four of them believed in the supernatural after they all experienced several strange circumstances growing up, and Crystal had long proven to have abilities that most people would've considered fake nonsense.

She kept a dream diary after experiencing incidents where she'd dream events before they occurred, and wanted to prove to herself it wasn't a figment of her imagination. Whenever something weird happened, she was the first to alert everyone and get them away from danger before anything bad happened, and had an uncanny sense of whether people were lying.

"Hard to say. It does feel... Weird. The walk through the whole forest was fine, but as soon as I walked into the yard... The air's different."

"Really?" Grey raised his eyebrows, hopping over the fence and holding out his arms. He was the second most sensitive to any external oddities, with a particular penchant for finding rather nasty unexplained phenomena. After a few seconds he frowned as well. "No, yeah. That's a weird vibe for sure. It's like, the forest was fine and funky fresh, then you get over here and it's..."

"Musty," Crystal and Grey finished at the same time, and exchanged wry smiles.

"Could be trepidation from perceived fears," Lillian pointed out, gesturing toward the house. Though she also believed in the supernatural, Lillian also liked trying to find reasonable explanations before resorting to the occult. "The big empty windows feel eerie because people expect houses to be brighter and look more lived in, right? It's possible it's just a subconscious response to an old, dilapidated building."

"Dilapidated..." Rayne muttered, raising her eyebrows as she surveyed the house. She had a sensitivity to people's emotions and motivations, and could sometimes pick up lingering feelings from objects, but she didn't feel anything in particular coming from the building. "I don't think it looks that bad? We've lived in worse."

"It hurts me, physically, every time you and Crystal tell us about that kind of thing," Lillian sighed, patting her hand over her heart while Grey nodded next to her. "This place looks gross! It's horrible to imagine little Ray and little Coco in a place even worse than this..."

"Hey, they hired someone to clean the inside and arrange some basic furniture for us to use," Grey said. "It won't be fancy, but the interior shouldn't be too gross! And we'll sleep in the same room for safety! After all... This is the Corpse Consuming Cottage!"

"Ugh, that name..." Crystal and Rayne both cringed at the same time, while Lillian's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, it's called what?!"

"Yup! Bad, right? But it's earned the name cuz of how many people have gone missing here. Poof! Gone without a trace! Every single person who's ever bought this place has disappeared, along with any family they brought along." Grey grinned, wiggling his fingers at his suddenly horrified twin. "I even made a spooky spreadsheet citing all my sources, aren't you proud? It's legit, this place is either hella haunted or hella cursed."

"Will we be okay!?" Lillian muttered, color draining from her cheeks.

"There's a loophole," Rayne said, and Crystal nodded.

"Yeah, we didn't buy the house. We're just renting. Supernatural stories are always big sticklers on rules, right? Chanting something three times, turning a certain way, walking a certain pattern. If buying the house is part of the problem, then renting it shouldn't be counted as the same thing because possession isn't being transferred." Crystal turned the camera to zoom in on poor Lillian's pale face, hiding her mischievous grin behind the lens. "Theoretically."

"Don't even pretend you aren't absolutely terrified too, Miss I Can't Go On The Haunted House Ride At The Amusement Park I Have A Doctor's Note," Grey scoffed.

"I don't like ghosts or wraiths or poltergeists or whatever wicked whatsits terrorize the night because I feel bad for them thanks very much, but..." Crystal glanced over at the house and frowned, furrowing her brow again. "I feel bothered but not... Threatened? Like there's something here watching but it won't hurt us."

"That's as good as a gold star to me. Let's crack this bitch open and make some lunch!" With renewed vigor, Grey fished the key from his shorts pocket and ran up the creaky old porch to the front door. "Come on in, it's nice and cool inside! Comparatively speaking, I don't think there's an air conditioner. Just fans. But it'll be clean!"

Like he'd promised, the interior was cleaner than the exterior condition belied. Furniture was sparse, but they were all fine wood antiques with a hand-polished sheen. Everyone dropped their backpacks in the foyer and stretched for a moment before getting to work.

"Water's on!" Grey called from the kitchen, where he set the tap to run. "There's dishes and cookware in here too!"

"Silverware?" Lillian called back, in the middle of helping Crystal and Rayne unload the handcart.

"Yup, as requested! I think they're all antique like the rest of everything here."

"Don't you dare break any antique dishes, Dorian Grey!"

"No promises!"

"Electricity works," Crystal said with some surprise, flicking a nearby switch after setting her harp case on the floor in the living room, alongside a towering pile of boxes holding personal things they'd had delivered via the realtor. She held her breath to listen for any crackles or pops, but the overhead light didn't give so much as a flicker. "Wires might actually be okay? That's surprising, this house is really old. Must've been recently renovated."

"Probably to try and reel in prospective buyers," Rayne said, setting down three drum cases. The rest of her kit was already unloaded, so she took a moment to glance around the living room with Crystal. "Inside looks much nicer than outside."

"We can make it look spookier with filters and editing," Crystal said, running her finger against the windowsill. When it came up without dust, she furrowed her brows. "They were real thorough cleaning this place."

"Found the terrifying cellar!" Grey's faint muffled cry echoed from somewhere in the house, followed by the sound of Lillian shouting his full name and charging off after him.

"Any cold spots?" Crystal shouted down the stairs after circling the entire bottom floor trying to find them. The cellar door was tucked into the kitchen's pantry, which was a full walk-in room rather than a little cabinet.

Since the house was so far from town, part of the rental contract involved the current real estate agent making sure the kitchen was stocked before tenants took over. All the shelves were packed full with newly purchased dry goods and spices, mostly sorted into pretty glass jars for aesthetic appeal.

"No cold spots, just some nice shelving, big old ground freezer and a wine rack! Fruit preserves and stuff but they didn't leave any complimentary wine. Zero out of ten, not recommended."

"What makes it terrifying then?"

"Big spiders."

Crystal grimaced and backed away from the cellar door, narrowly evading Lillian as she retreated up the stairs at maximum speed.

The house was surprisingly large. The ground floor had a large open kitchen with an attached breakfast room, a living room, a dining room, a sitting room, a study with empty floor-to-ceiling bookshelves alongside display cabinets, and a laundry/changing room attached to a bathroom with an enormous sunken bath large enough to be used as a hot tub.

"I would buy this house just for the tub," Lillian said, stroking the porcelain with obvious affection.

"Please don't," Grey muttered. "We're evading the horrible disappearance curse via fairy loopholes, don't you go walking into the trap face-first like that!"

"Fine, but when we leave, we're bringing the tub with us."

"Yeah sure that's completely feasible and not at all slightly insane."

The upper floor had five large bedrooms with attached changing rooms, two lavatories, and a walk-in storage closet. Rayne carried their bags into the master bedroom, then returned to the handcart to retrieve the extra supplies they brought - a couple of brand new air mattresses, blankets, boxes of instant food, tents in case the house was in worse shape than expected, a first aid kit, and little tools like scissors, binoculars, and lighters.

"This place is supposed to be super haunted and cursed, yet..." Rayne hummed to herself, patting the mattress in the master bedroom. Every bed in the house was neatly made, with clean sheets and blankets that still smelled like soap. "Won't need the air mattresses. They really worked hard to make this place nice, huh?"

Finally, the attic under the peaked roof had a few small gaps in the shingles, but otherwise lacked any signs of weathering or exposure damage. The only things occupying the space were a few cobwebs in the darkest corners. "Ugh, nothing for us to snoop through," Grey muttered, poking his head into the attic for only moment before heading back downstairs to start moving boxes from the living room into various bedrooms for later sorting.

Crystal and Rayne turned the fans on in all the rooms to start circulating air, opening windows on the shaded side of the house to catch any stray breezes, while Lillian and Grey got started on making lunch. The house which stood empty for so long soon filled with laughter, conversation, and the smell of good food.

"I just can't get over how unhaunted this haunted house is," Grey lamented, tapping a fork against his empty plate. "I've been looking and there's not so much as a suspiciously shadowed corner or creaky stair board!"

"Are you sure those disappearances were legit?" Lillian asked, gesturing for Crystal to pass the salt so she could douse her potato salad. "You checked the sources themselves, right?"

"I did! That's why it's so weird!" Grey drained the remaining water from his glass, glaring down at the ice cubes rattling at the bottom. "Other than the terrible cell reception, weak internet signal, and our gut feelings, there's really no sign of anything being weird. I was promised jumpscares!"

"You were promised no such thing," Rayne muttered around a mouthful of grilled chicken sandwich, deftly capturing some lettuce before it escaped her lips and hit the table. "The outside looks spooky enough for use in our video, we can think of this like a vacation and relax for a bit until we have to leave."

"There's a barn out back, maybe that's haunted?" Crystal suggested, but Grey shook his head.

"I already checked... It's clean as a whistle. No disturbed earth or rattling rusty tools or anything!"

"Would you feel better if one of us got possessed by a demon?"

"Maybe. It'd have to be a really good possession though, if you're not crawling on the ceiling I want a refund."

"Oh, you're paying us?"

"Hell no, a refund of my feelings. My feelings!"

"Speaking of feelings, how do you feel, Coco? Lils?" Rayne interrupted just as Grey was about to get dramatic. "That was a doozy of a hike. You guys alright?"

Both Lillian and Crystal suffered from several health problems when they were younger, and were still weaker than the average person because of it. They had to work harder to remain healthy than most people did.

Lillian, since her mouth was full, flexed her arm and gave a thumbs up to show she was feeling alright. Once her mouth was clear of food, she added: "Mostly just sore, but nothing a long bath and some music won't cure!"

"Coco?"

Crystal gave a start, realizing she'd been staring out the nearest window for awhile and tuning out the conversation. She turned back to Rayne and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just feel a bit woozy, I think."

"Sensing something weird?"

"Honestly? I don't know." Crystal sighed, opening a can of grape soda and pouring it into her glass. "I still feel like we're being watched. And..."

She hesitated, then shook her head. No matter how Grey tried to cajole the rest of the sentence from her, Crystal kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. If she felt they were in danger she wouldn't be so tight-lipped, so they dropped the subject and started discussing their upcoming album instead.

After lunch they moved several beds into one room, turning the master bedroom into a big slumber party area. The rest of the afternoon and early evening was spent getting video and photos of the house and its yard, trying to find the perfect angles for use during the actual performance recording.

Rayne gathered some logs for firewood after noticing a fire pit in the back with some carved stone benches surrounding it. Dinner consisted of an open flame barbecue using packaged meats they found in the fridge, and a few veggies and fruit rolled into foil packs.

"We've really gotta thank that agent lady," Grey said, reclining in his chair. "She really came through with the supplies! It's so good having a fully stocked kitchen from the start, I was worried we'd be having pancakes and instant ramen for days."

"I'll head to town tomorrow and grab more meat for the freezer in the cellar," Rayne said, chewing on a skewer of chicken. "It's got a little variety right now but I'd like to stock up so we don't have to make as many trips. You and Lils might be fine with rabbit food, but Crystal and I need that good good protein."

"We're natural carnivores," Crystal agreed.

"Is there anything else we need from the store?"

"Nah, I can't think of anything. There's like, four entire bags of toilet paper, and towels and wash cloths and soaps and detergent and even pads and stuff. Like, I know we paid for the service but the level of consideration is really impressive!"

Crystal stared into the flickering flames, watching the embers rise into the rapidly darkening sky only to flicker away among the stars. The strange feeling she'd had all day was building to a crescendo, swelling in her chest in anticipation of...

Something.

Rayne glanced over, nudging her sister in the arm. "Coco? You're out of it again."

Crystal nodded. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened again. Seeing her strange behavior, Lillian and Grey both fell silent.

Finally, Crystal heaved a sigh and poked at the burning logs with a long stick. "Remember when we first posted the video for our band? It was uploading and we were all watching the loading bar while holding our breaths? How it felt?"

"Don't get nostalgic on me old man," Grey muttered. Though his tone was teasing, there was an affectionate smile on his face.

Lillian nodded and smiled. "It was so exciting and terrifying at the same time. Maybe nothing would happen, maybe we'd be one of many bands that never got any traction. But maybe... Maybe we'd get lucky."

"It was kind of a relief too," Rayne added, gesturing with the skewer in her hand. "Like, we did it! We made our first song, and did our first video, and were gonna show it to the world. It felt really real right then. All our hard work."

"Yeah... And remember what I said?" When they all shook their heads, Crystal chuckled and poked the fire hard enough to send a flurried shower of sparks into the air. "I said it felt like a change was coming. For better or worse, something big was about to happen."

"Right, right! We'd either succeed in our dream or fail absolutely, with no in-between. That's what you said, yeah?" Grey sighed, patting his full stomach. "I remember. Man, that was heavy. I couldn't even sleep that night, you know?"

"Is it happening again?" Lillian asked, her voice even softer than usual. "That feeling?"

"Yeah. I've felt that way all day. I thought maybe it's cuz we never did anything as big as this, renting a house and doing a whole video shoot on location, that maybe I was worried about how ambitious our idea was, but..." Crystal bit her lip, poking the fire again. She made a point of avoiding their gazes, focusing on the burning embers and crackling logs. "I think if we stay here tonight, there's no going back."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Then, quietly, Rayne whispered: "Are we in danger?"

"It's not like that. It's just... A massive change, that feels... Overwhelming. This is bigger than the previous time."

"Bigger than chasing our dream?"

"Yeah."

Rayne reached over to grab Crystal's hand, while Grey hopped up and sprawled across Lillian's lap despite her protests. He just laughed and said, "What's that matter? No matter what happens tonight, tomorrow, or whatever! We'll get through it together like we always have. You and me, sweethearts. Us against the world!"

Crystal smiled and gently squeezed Rayne's hand. "Yeah. We'll be fine, no matter what."

Once dinner was finished, the fire fully smothered and the leftovers packed away for later, everyone did rock-paper-scissors to determine order of bathtub usage. One by one, they soaked away their worries, changed into the pajamas they brought, and crawled into one of the master bedroom's beds.

As midnight ticked over, a single shaft of light from the full moon filtered through the room's lacy curtains, illuminating their peaceful faces. The sleeping occupants remained blissfully unaware of the tendrils of fog creeping along the ground, emerging from the forest to wrap the entire house in a dome of mist.

Several hours later, as the first rays of dawn burst from the horizon, they were finally awoken by a piercing scream.

[as-be-low]

Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 5

Folks say Papa would beg, borrow, or steal to pay his bills. Hey, Mama, folks say Papa was never much on thinkin'… Papa was a rollin’ stone, Wherever he laid his hat was his home. And when he died, all he left us was alone. Papa Was a Rollin' Stone—The Temptations

AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Soon after stepping foot inside the supermarket, Stanford Pines began to question the soundness of his judgment in agreeing to let his brother cart him all the way to the store. Maybe it was the fact that his kitchen was truly empty that sealed the deal. It could have also had something to do with the fact that he had need to buy more than usual, especially with two additional mouths to feed, and as such, walking home with the requisite amount would have been less than ideal. Either way, the benefits did not seem to outweigh the numerous disadvantages. Yet again, people proved to be weird. Weird in a way Stanford found himself repelled by, surprisingly enough. Weird in a way he found unquantifiable. He’d never understand it.

Stanley seemed to alternate between being as uncomfortable as Ford himself was, and being in his element. Ford nearly got whiplash trying to keep track of his brother’s reactions before he decided against it. What was going on in that head of his? He’d have to go with nothing, if he were basing his judgment solely on the various odd situations he witnessed each time he ran across the man, who immediately plopped his overly-excited child in a basket and ventured off in the nearest direction that screamed “Away From Ford”—while Stella grinned in poorly-contained glee—as soon as they entered.

“Basket rides!” Stanley gently shushed the child, his eyes darting around at the other patrons as he wheeled her away from Ford. Maybe Stanley did understand the dangers of being in public, ford mused. He grabbed a basket of his own and headed into the store, beginning the motions of completing his usual shopping list.

He worked his way through the list with the ease that came with regular practice until he reached the meat and dairy section. He rounded the corner in tome to witness his brother narrowly dodging a raw egg.

“Damn!” his brother swore while Stella, parked nearby, clapped and swung her legs in delight. The butcher stood on the wrong side of the meat counter with a cart loaded with primly stacked eggs by his side. He grabbed another egg from the top of the pile and hurled it at his brother. What in the hell was going on here? How had Stanley pissed him off so thoroughly? The butcher hooted with laughter as Stanley caught the next egg in a large fist, then carefully placed it into a sparsely-filled carton.

“Hah! Nice one, Stan!” Ford’s brother simply grinned in response and braced himself, legs apart as he prepared himself for the next projectile.

“What in the fuck am I looking at?” Stanford blurted out.

“Oooooh!” his niece cooed.

Stan barely spared him a glance, while the young butcher looked particularly bewildered. “Oh! There’s two of you?”

“Yeah. Now, you gonna throw that egg, or what?”

“You bet!” the butcher beamed and adopted a pitcher’s stance.

“Seriously, would anyone care to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Yeah. After I finish with this.”

“Daddy’s winnin’ eggs!” Stella piped.

“That’s right, kiddo, now watch ‘n learn.” He smirked, one hand darting out from his side to catch another projectile egg.

“We made a deal, so every egg he catches out of a dozen is free!” the giddy butcher explained, launching another egg that Stanley had to dive to catch before it hit his daughter. He made a deal? We haven’t been here fifteen minutes!

“And if it hits the child?” Ford’s annoyance crept up to the vein pulsing in his neck.

“If it hits Stella, then he gets an automatic free dozen eggs, plus whatever he already caught!”

“Right. I’m…getting away from whatever this is. Have fun, or whatever it is you call this.” Ford quickly pushed his basket away from the egg-splattered mayhem, vaguely wondering if he should collect his niece. That would put him in the danger zone, though. He had a feeling that Stan would intentionally miss catching an egg just to spite him, if given the chance.

“Bye bye!” Stella opened and closed her fist in farewell. He felt oddly compelled to return the childish gesture.

“Aww. That’s adorable.” He heard as he darted away. People were so strange.

More laughter trailed behind him. Ford found himself shaking his head. How was it that Stanley was able to build such a rapport with people so quickly? It was unbelievable. And here he is, wasting it on egg tossing. He heard an “oop!” and a splat, followed by small giggles. With a disgusted sigh, Ford grabbed a gallon of milk and hurried down another aisle. There was no way he wanted to get caught up in this nonsense. Grocery stores were a waste of time. The less time he spent on distractions, the faster he could get home. The faster he could get home, the better for everyone involved. Grocery stores were hotbeds of potential uncomfortable conversations, unless your name was Stanley, it seemed.

Ford found comfort in the repetitive rhythm of his shopping list, only broken by the jarring, yet infrequent times he ran into his brother down various aisles, or heard his voice carrying from however many aisles away. He heard a childish tune sung by two draw near along with the rattling of basket wheels. Stanley stopped his basket in front of Ford’s own.

“What in the he-eck is all this?” he gestured to the half-filled cart.

Ford straightened his back with a frown. “What?”

“Do you even like Toaster Pops?”

“No, but you—”

“Then why are you getting ‘em? Put those back.” Stan took the liberty of reaching into Ford’s basket to remove them himself.

“Stan!” Ford hissed. Stanley cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t make any sense t’ buy somethin’ you don’t even like.” He grumbled. Pushing his basket onwards.

“I’m not buying for myself alone, I’ll have you know.” Ford grumbled as he heard the rattling wheels fade away. “But fine. No Toaster Pops.” He wheeled himself back down the adjacent aisle. “I’ll choose something else, instead.” A satisfied smirk crossed his face as he paused in front of the wall of cereal boxes. His eyes scanned over the colorful packaging, pausing at the Raisin Flakes. “Hm.” He pulled down a box. No, wait. Children didn’t tend to like that sort of cereal, did they? He inched further down. “Marshmallow Lucky-O’s?” he mumbled under his breath. “Surely a child would prefer this one.”

“Uhh.” Ford visibly jolted. “Yeeeah, man, put the Raisin Bran back and get some Marshy-O’s or Lucky-O’s or literally anything that doesn’t have bran flakes or raisins in it.” The helpful stranger eyed Ford oddly while he stood like a deer in headlights.

“…Oh. Many thanks. I…have a new niece. She and my brother are visiting. She’s uh—she’s three.” The stranger continued to frown for a moment. Ford wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to divulge the excess information. This was stupid.

“Riiight. Wait, were they the ones catching eggs with Ernie in the meat department?”

Ford winced. “I’m afraid so.”

“Awww, they’re so cute! I shoulda figured. You ‘n your brother look exactly alike. Definitely go with the Lucky-O’s, then. Enjoy your company!”

Ford blinked at the back of the stranger’s head as they disappeared around the corner. “…Thank you?” Trust Stanley to do something so inherently goofy and destructive, draw an audience for it, and then endear himself to said audience in the process. It was somewhat disconcerting, if Ford was honest with himself. How does he do that? Personality, indeed. Their mother had been right.

He continued across the store, one ear to the air as he heard his brother’s voice carrying from a few aisles over. Good. He was picking out items himself. He hoped there were no projectiles involved. Ford gave a distracted nod of approval as he scanned the shelves for jellybeans. It wasn’t a trip to the grocery store without jellybeans.

“Okay, so we grabbed this peanut butter ‘cause it’s the biggest ‘n it’s also on sale, so it’s the cheapest, too. These people must be crazy if they sell stuff all willy-nilly like that, but anyways, that gives us enough to grab a few cans of soup ‘n stuff too. Let’s go see if they’re nuts enough to put that on sale, too.”

“Yeah!”

“Not so loud, kiddo.” Ford heard his brother stage whisper, followed by another baby giggle. “Can’t be loud if Daddy has to make a break for it.”

“But you don’t!”

“Oh, y’think so? Huh? What about now?” the clattering noise of the basket picked up speed and volume and Stella’s distant giggles grew louder. “Vroom!” Stanley barreled down the end caps, then screeched to a halt. Ford found himself cringing, fearing an imminent crash, and was confused to look up to find Stanley wheeling his way towards him at a more moderate pace.

“Boom! Boom!” Stella added in her own sound effects as Stanley idly rammed his basket into Ford’s, looking disinterested in his own actions.

“What? Will you—cut it out!”

“I’m just followin’ orders. Ain’t that right, boss?”

Stella turned around in her seat and beamed at her uncle. “Boom. Boom!”

Ford supposed the basket antics were tolerable, in retrospect.

“Wow, it’s a good thing you can’t drive, Stel.”

“Yeah.” The child chirped back.

Stan let out a throaty, stony-faced chuckle and leaned forward, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Soo…” he began. “Is that the last of it?” His eyes scrutinized Ford’s basket. Ford fought the defensive urge to pull it away from him.

“Uh, yes. I believe…I believe this should complete the list in its entirety.” Stanley rolled his eyes at that, though Ford wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Cool. So. Checkout, then. Come on, Pumpkin.”

Checking out was more of an ordeal than Stanford had anticipated. Not that there was much fanfare, not nearly as much as the egg throwing and the shopping cart speeding, which Ford was thankful for, but there was a good amount of disapproving sighs and anxious head shaking as the cashier scanned each item. Stan placed the divider on the belt and set down his few items, only to give Ford a look of outrage mixed with something he couldn’t quite place as Ford promptly removed the divider.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Just put it with mine, it’s just, what? Four items? There’s no need to open a second transaction.

“Ford, no.”

“What? It’s not an issue.” That just seemed to make Stanley more upset. Ford couldn’t begin to fathom why.

“That’s… That’s not the point, Ford, I can—”

“Stan. It’s all going to the same place. It doesn’t even matter. Just—”

“I don’t need you to—”

“It’s not—”

“Your total is $67.34,” the cashier droned. The Pines twins both turned in a brief moment of stunned silence. Stanford reached for his wallet while Stan looked on in silent frustration. He let out a sigh that may have doubled as a poorly contained growl, then scooped Stella onto his hip to place her seconds later into Ford’s full basket.

“You really didn’t hafta do all that, Ford.” He grumbled once in the parking lot.

Ford stared at him. “You’re genuinely pissed off. Incredible.” He couldn’t believe it. Of all the things he could’ve been pissed off about, he chose this? Unbelievable. Ford walked alongside Stan as he wheeled the basket to the car, raising an eyebrow as he pulled the backseat door open.

“In ya go, pumpkin.” Stan grumbled as he fastened the child into her seat and began arranging grocery bags around her.

“Wouldn’t it be best to put those elsewhere? The trunk, for instance?”

“Nah. There’s stuff in the trunk already. It’s fine.” He mumbled back.

He had a perfectly good trunk, but refused to use it. Okay.

“Here, sweetie, can you hold this?” he handed the child a bag full of eggs.

A bag? Who put raw eggs in a bag? Didn’t he have a carton earlier? Stan shoved the rest of the groceries around the car seat and in the foot wells, then pushed the empty basket way.

“Now.” He hummed, hopping into the driver’s seat as Ford slid in beside him. Neither twin said a word as Stanley fumbled and shoved his key into the ignition. “Alright. How does headin’ back sound, kiddo?”

“ ‘Kay.” She sang her affirmation, intently inspecting the eggs in her lap.”

“Careful with those, okay, pumpkin? Don’t want ‘em to break.”

“Yeah.”

Ford let his eyes dart to the backseat and couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across his face. “Oh, wait, turn right up ahead.” He blurted as he righted himself in his seat.

“Yeah, I remember. Thanks.” The last word was a barely-audible grumble hidden under a cough. Ford decided he’d take would he could get.

≈

The rest of the ride was made in near silence, stiff, though not entirely uncomfortable. The two brothers listened to the child in the backseat’s observations about the eggs and various objects surrounding her, while simultaneously avoiding conversation with and acknowledging the presence of one another. Ford was relieved when Stanley pulled up to the porch and parked with a small grunt as he stretched in his seat. He twisted in his seat to look back at the child while Stanford unbuckled and removed himself from the Stanleymobile. Once again, the man reached into the backseat to extricate his niece from her car seat. She clung to him like a leech, one little hand still holding her bag of eggs in a death grip. He carefully set her down on the porch and went to fumble for his keys before pushing the door open, doubling back to the old red car to pass his brother in silence as they both grabbed armfuls of sacks to carry into the kitchen. Stanley wordlessly sidestepped the other man as he headed back out the front door. Ford rolled his eyes and set down his load, meandering back to the entryway. Figures. Of course he can’t—

“What in the fuck is that?” Stanley bellowed, followed by a small child’s squeal.

“Bad word!”

Ford scrambled and slid onto the porch, stumbling down the front steps in his haste.

“What? What’s what? Oh.” Ford’s lip curled and distaste colored his voice. “You again.”

“What the fuck is it?” Stanley pressed.

“The leprecorn from earlier. I hate these stupid bastards. It would also explain why Danny Boy was playing a little earlier.” The creature was too busy rooting through a half-torn bag to dignify a response to the insult. It mangled the edge of a cereal box between its crooked teeth. “Oh, for the love of…” he groaned. “The cereal. The damned thing’s attracted to the cereal.” Ford grabbed the creature by its horn and used his free hand to pry the box from its mouth with a satisfying yank. “The stupid freaks of nature are attracted to brightly-colored, marshmallow-filled children’s cereal. Of course. I’ll get rid of the damned thing.” He moved to take a step back but stopped short, wavering unsteadily as his leg bumped into something solid. He looked down. Stella had grabbed ahold of his leg, wrapping one small arm around it while the other reached upwards towards him. “Sweet Moses, you startled me! Uh, could you give me a moment? I’ll hand you the cereal once I’ve disposed of this terror.” The toddler shook her head adamantly and began jumping as she reached for his arm. “I can’t pick you up at the moment,” his eyes darted to Stanley for help, “though, your father may be able to?”

The child let out a keening whine. “She wants the leprechaun, genius.”

Ford’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Absolutely not. These things are horrendous. Look at it. It’s objectively awful.” He struggled to lift his leg without knocking the child down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, dear.” He reared back with the leprecorn in hand. The abomination seemed pleased with this arrangement, if the asinine grin and increase in volume from its horn served as any indication.

“NO!” the child wailed, her little hand clenching and unclenching as she stretched, the hand on his leg now patting his stomach insistently. Her eyes watered.

He stared down at the tiny hands. Tiny, six-fingered hands interested in an anomaly were reaching up towards him. There was no way he could, in full conscience, say no to that. He deflated with a huff, his arms lowering. He was certain to regret this, seeing as this was one of the lamest things he’d had the misfortune to encounter, but he couldn’t begrudge the child. He didn’t want to be responsible for making a little girl cry.

She wrapped her arms around the multicolored abomination with a squeal, stumbling forward from the sudden weight imbalance. She dropped the creature onto the grass with an inelegant thud, delighted as it scrambled to an upright position. Stanford watched in befuddlement as the child wrapped her happy little arms around its neck—did it actually have a proper neck? He wasn’t sure if the blasted thing did.

“Does that thing bite? Not sure whether this is cute or concernin’.” Stanley’s voice brought ford out of his thoughts.

“Uh, no. It’s harmless. It did chew on my side burns once, though, until I threw it the first time.”

“Throwable. Good ta know.” Stanley reached back into the backseat and emerged with the last of the groceries, sidestepping his daughter and her new companion on his way back inside the cabin. Ford followed behind his brother, pausing to look back at the child in his front yard before stepping inside. “You seem…not entirely aghast?”

“It’s not the first weird thing I’ve seen. Didn’t expect t’see it here, though, but I guess it makes sense that there would be some weird shit here, all things considered.”

Ford worried his lip briefly. “Yes. Right.” He supposed he would have seen a lot more…intriguing things on the other side of the portal. He couldn’t begin to fathom what.

It wouldn’t do to ask now.

Danny Boy seemed to intensify outside. Ford ran a hand down his face. “I hate that thing. I hate that thing so much.”

“I’m…gonna go check on my kid.”

“Drop kick the leprecorn off the porch, while you’re at it.” Ford groused.

“Make my kid cry. Right. On it.” Stan rolled his eyes as he turned his back. Stanford stared at the empty space his brother once occupied before staring back at the groceries. He could at least put away the perishables. By then a three-year-old would have lost interest in most anything, right? They weren’t exactly known for their attention spans. He couldn’t recall if his own had been any better when he and Stanley were that small. He doubted it.

He hesitantly put a few more items away, making sure to put Stella’s mangled cereal in the refrigerator, out of the reach of children, gnomes, and other such mysteries. Ford inched his way back to the front porch and peered out, spotting his brother sitting in the grass. His daughter sat between his crossed legs, with the leprecorn in a chokehold of a hug. Parts of its beard were in unraveling braids of varying caliber. Stanley must’ve helped her with the braiding. Ford commended him for even touching the thing without intent to lob it. He leaned in the doorway for a while, committing the oddly domestic scene to memory. Substitute the leprecorn for a dog, and you could almost pretend nothing is wrong here. His expression soured briefly at the thought. He could fix it. He’d find a way to fix it. He had to. If he could construct, dismantle, and then reconstruct an interdimensional portal, then he could certainly fix something as simples as…

As simple as years of familial discord. Right.

His eyes perked as Stanley stood only to crouch, tucking the leprecorn under one arm and settling Stella onto his hip with the other. He dropped the creature onto the porch as one would a cat, though it lacked such grace and landed with a thud and the scrabbling of hooves as it hustled itself upright. Stan watched it idly. “Whoops. Now, we’ll leave ‘im here and you can play with ‘im again later, okay?”

The child looked doubtful. “What if he gests lost?”

“He won’t get lost, kiddo. He found you once before, didn’t he? He knows where he is.” The child seemed appeased, if only slightly. “Alright. You ready for a break?”

“Okay.”

Stanley slipped past the other man silently, slowly making his way up the stairs. As his brother eased out of sight, Stanford took the opportunity to turn his attention to the nuisance on his front porch. “Alright, shoo. Go away. Go. Go.” He waved his hands at the creature, but it proved ineffectual. The damned thing just batted its eyelashes at him, all the while sporting a slack-jawed grin. “Don’t you mock me.” Ford growled, backing through the threshold. He let the door shut in the leprecorn’s face with an unnecessary yet satisfying click. He had groceries that needed to be tended to. A spot of coffee won’t hurt, either.

Stanford let the coffee pot gurgle as he shoved the last of the groceries into cabinets in a semblance of order. There. That was handled. Now, he just needed to come up with a better method of communication between his brother and himself. Since blunt questions didn’t seem to be as well-received as they had been when they were younger, he’d have to be indirect. Indirectness with an actual human being had never been his forte. No. He could do this. Ford didn’t need questions, he needed solutions. He had enough evidence to base his assumptions on without more questions. That wouldn’t stop him from wanting to ask more. What was his issue? He suspected his brother of being homeless. Possible solutions included offering him money or lodging. Ford suspected the latter might be more well-received if worded delicately.

But then what? Stanford wasn’t naïve enough to hope for some immediate, all-curing happily-ever-after just by virtue of convincing his brother to live with him. They’d still have to talk things out. Ford leaned against the counter, resting his cheek on his fist. He’d need questions, after all. He spotted movement from the corner of his eye and gazed up, catching his brother easing into the kitchen. Ford jerked upright, his expression brightening substantially.

“Oh! Um.” His hands fumbled in front of the coffee maker as he procured a second mug. “Coffee?” Stanley stood still and silent for a few seconds.

“Uh, sure.” It seemed they would both choose to ignore the slight tremble of Ford’s hand as he filled the mugs. The two edged towards the kitchen table in an uneasy silence.

“So…” Small talk. Small talk, Ford. Make small talk. Just ask something. Pretend you care. No, don’t pretend, because you do actually care. Well, you should. Stanley shifted in his seat. “You said you travel around a lot.” Ford heard Stanley sigh as Ford stared down into his mug.

“Ford, I—”

“What was your favorite place you’ve been to?”

“What?”

“Of… of all the places you’ve been, which did you prefer the most?”

Stanley stuck his tongue in his cheek as he blinked, eyebrows raised. “Well, huh.” Ford felt pride in managing to throw him for a loop. “Havana was pretty nice, what I got to see of it.”

“Havana? You went to Cuba?”

“Heh, yeah. That was…that was pretty wild.” Stanley seemed to frown behind the faint smile.

“How did you even get to Cuba?”

“Ehh, was a bit of a whirlwind, really. Can’t exactly remember all the details on how, but I do remember bein’ there. Real nice city. Lotsa charm. Lotsa beautiful women, too.” His smile became more of a smirk. Ford felt some of his tension leave. That was more like the brother he remembered.

“I can imagine. It’s quite the fascinating country, I’m told.”

“Yeah. Pretty lil’ buildings all over the place, ‘n nice lookin’ cars, coffee, and cigars. Real nice.”

“So I take it it’s somewhere you’d like to revisit, given the chance.”

Stan let out a dry chuckle. “It was definitely nice, but I doubt they’d want me back!”

“You got kicked out of Cuba?”

“So? You say that like it’s outrageous. Been kicked outta lotsa places.”

“Yes, well, getting kicked out of a country is a tad bit unusual.” Ford drawled.

“It’s not like we’re supposed to be there in the first place, so is it really that big of a deal?” Stan grumbled. Ford was reluctant to admit he made a good point. “Anyway,” Stanley drawled, idly eyeing the other man, “why’re you askin’?”

Ford blinked. “I was merely curious, is all.” Stan shrugged.

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Where else have you visited?” Ford pretended to ignore the roll of Stan’s eyes.

“Buncha places. Mexico, England, Venezuela, Colombia…” he trailed off, while Ford latched onto the lull.

“Colombia? That must’ve been nice.”

“Not really.”

“I—what? Why not?”

“I was in jail most of my time there.” He mumbled. Ford’s tongue felt like sandpaper as he swallowed.

“Jail?” Stanley looked discomfited as he shifted, resting his cheek on his fist as he glared at nothing.

“Pretty sure I remember sayin’ I’ve been to jail in multiple countries.”

“How many?” Ford whispered.

“Ain’t really important now, is it?”

“Please.”

Stanley sighed, a long hiss through gritted teeth. “Four now.”

“What did you do?”

“I did my time, is what I did. Any more questions, Your Honor?” He gave Ford a pointed look.

He had the decency to look away. “I…apologize. Though… Why not, that is—well, you…changed locations somewhat frequently. What criteria do you use to choose the next place to settle?” Ford hadn’t been prepared for the impassive face that studiously avoided his gaze.

“Ford.”

Ford was startled into a pause. His stomach twisted painfully. “There must be some sort of criteria for suitability.” He mumbled.

“Somewhere I won’t be in anyone’s hair.”

“That seems rather subjective. Who decides that?”

“I do.”

Ford took another long, hard look at his brother. The dark circles under his eyes discolored the skin like bruises—or maybe one was a faint bruise—and a few half-healed scratches dotted his cheek and jaw, with a few smaller ones reaching his collarbone. Had he been in a fight? That seemed like the Stanley he knew, buy the familiarity brought him no comfort. Ford hoped it was a trick of the light, but another patch of darker, mottled skin poked out of the neckline of his dingy shirt. Stan let out a loud sniff and shifted once again, his eyes pointedly focused on the wall across from Ford. He’d been caught staring, Ford realized sheepishly, but Stanley had made it a point not to say anything. Stanley never kept his mouth shut. Not his Stanley. But this wasn’t his Stanley anymore.

He had to say something. He’d been caught staring and he’d let the silence drag on for too long. He needed to save this before it went horribly awry.

“Hey, Stanley?”

“Yeah?” Here it was. Fuck, what was he going to say?

“I just… Well, I—” he stopped himself, letting out a sigh. “I missed you.” Ford glanced down at the mug clenched tightly between his hands and then to his brother’s motionless ones, following the rigid line of his body up to his sharp, squared jaw. His eyes never left the window. Small muscles visibly twitched under the skin of his neck and after an eternity, the man let his shoulders fall and a whistle of air escaped his nose.

“Yeah.”

Was… Is that it? Ford sat silently as the pit of his stomach hit the floor. This continued to follow unexpected twists and turns. Turns that left Stanford at a loss and struggling to keep from careening into a mess he didn’t want to fully contemplate. He took a moment to brace himself. This was fine. Everything was fine. He had this under control. Everything would be perfectly fine. He would make sure of it.

Ford stared somewhere past his brother as he weighed his options, his eyes flickering back to the man as he shifted. Stanley mumbled something he wouldn’t quite discern. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask for clarification. The silence left an uncomfortable lull, interrupted only by the steady ticking of a wall clock. Both men let it continue until Stanley stood, his chair slowly scraping the wooden floor.

“I’ll let you get ta work, or somethin’. I’m sure ya got somethin’ important tucked away you could be workin’ on.”

“I—yes. That is, I do have a project I’m currently working on, but—”

“Great. I’ll leave ya to it. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be upstairs with Stella. I’ll stay outta your way.” Ford watched his brother retreat up the stairs with equal parts indignation and dismay.

Alright, then. It appears I’ve been dismissed. Ford had no choice but to be forcibly left to his own devices. The feeling was unsettling. What was he supposed to do in this situation? His mind warred between feeling relief for the respite from many awkward interactions and deep, pulsating shame at not being able to coax his own twin brother into wanting to spend time with him. He let out a sigh and reached for Stan’s near-empty mug, dropping it into the sink. Since he did have time available now, surely it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and strategize. Given enough time, which he had been granted, he could formulate a plan. Yes, he could make this work, he decided, as he made his way to his bookshelf, pulling the lever to reach his study.

≈

His foolproof plan hadn’t accounted for this.

Though it was his habit, Ford hadn’t expected to get so thoroughly wrapped up in his work—planning the best way to reconcile with his brother—that he completely forgot to resurface and effectively shot his own plans in the foot. He hurried up the elevator, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do at the current late hour. He shuffled into the kitchen, sparing a glance at the clock. Roughly a quarter after two. Surely he was the only one awake. He leaned against the counter and let his head loll back with a sigh. He hadn’t imagined that a visit from his brother would be so spectacularly excruciating. Ford’s mind drifted to the…incident. Although it had ended in a painful, spectacular failure, he’d spent the years poring over his memories of the day. He’d reconfigured Project Mentem to capture the memory in its entirety to make sure it would remain well-preserved just in case. Every time he scanned the memory, he could swear he saw something. A glimmer of hope, of some little remnant of optimism in Stan’s countenance. You extinguished that yourself a number of years ago. Of course that optimism was no longer present. Trapping your brother in an incomprehensible hellscape for three years might just have that sort of effect. There should be no question as to why he hates me. Ford grimaced. He doesn’t hate me.

He couldn’t.

He just…has a strong, adverse reaction to me. That shouldn’t be insurmountable.

Ford let his head fall forward and raised his eyes up to give a cursory glimpse out the window. Holy Moses. Not again. He bolted to the front door, sliding against the wood in his haste to open it. The hiccupped. Strangled, hysterical laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat. The cool night air swirled up and around him to mock him as he stared out. There was nothing outside. Absolutely nothing, save a fresh set of tire tracks molding the dead grass into the shape of his fears.

The Stanleymobile was gone.

Again.

He slammed a fist against the threshold, ignoring the throbbing pain for that of his pulse pounding in his ears. He let the door slam shut before bounding up the stairs to his guestroom, wrenching the door open. Had he really packed everything up and left? Again? Did he even have anything to pack? His frantic eyes darted across the room, lit only by the faint light slipping in from the hallway, until they landed on a little lump in the center of the bed.

“Oh, fuck.” He deflated as he stumbled towards the bed. Somehow, he hadn’t woken the child in his flurry of activity. Oh, God. His brother had left and left his child behind. He was going to be sick.

He left her. He left both of us. Stanford’s eyes began to water.

He dropped down onto the edge of the bed, hunching forward. Ford dug his elbows into the tops of his thighs and tangled his fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to feel a sharp pinch along his scalp. “Fuck.” What was he supposed to do? He was responsible for a child. A living, breathing, small human being with actual needs and concerns was in his charge, and he hadn’t the first idea on how to handle it. What the hell was Stanley thinking? Ford was in no way qualified to care for a child, though apparently neither was Stan. How could he be so absolutely careless?

“What the fuck?” What the hell had his brother been thinking? Who the fuck just…just deserted and left a child with what was effectively a stranger—oh, God, he was a stranger to his own family—and didn’t even utter a single word? He wouldn’t find him. He couldn’t find him last time, and he likely wouldn’t be able to find him now, either.

He stared at his sleeping niece.

He’d have to break the news to her. He was a grown man and was having problems coming to terms with this himself. How was he supposed to tell a small child that her only parent had just up and abandoned her? Fiddleford would know what to do.

I can look for her mother. He had enough relevant information. Date and city of birth; it wouldn’t be too hard to weasel out the rest from there. Surely he’d find something in the public records, and if not, he still had his shadow government contacts.

Ford sucked in a shaky breath. This wouldn’t be okay, but damn if he wouldn’t try to mitigate the casualties.

Maybe this visit had been a mistake.

OH WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT, A CLIFFHANGER. Never thought I'd write one, but the temptation was waaaay too great. I really couldn't help myself! For those of y'all who observe Mardi Gras, I hope y'all had a good one, and if you don't, I hope y'all had a good Tuesday! I spent mine being evil and cackling writing this.